...it finally happens (Mitchell/Mason/Rousseau)

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

The Prison was always dark and dank, the air was never anything other than stale, the eastern side always had dried blood stuck to the floors and the western side had over sized rodents. Hopefully the northern ward will be opening soon. McMillan thought as he kicked a rat the size of his boot off the edge of the fenced in balcony. the threw his cigarette down after it. He stood alone outside looking at the sunrise, thinking of how he was going to introduce himself to the two Allied prisoners just down the hall. He had served with one of them, Mason, for most of his time in the war in the Desert Rats, even in the RMC before they changed designations. The second Mitchell, well he didn't really know the guy, but he was sure Mason would fill him in after he picked his own jaw up from the shock.

McMillan was turning to go inside when he heard the screeching of some tires and turned his gaze toward the exterior road. They came to a stop gently on the edge of a ditch, but what happened next was, well it was odd. The men in the cab climbed out and unlocked the rear door, the driver was lifted from his feet as the occupant in the back gave the doors a swift kick and tried to leap onto the other German soldier. From the way she was bound, she was also a prisoner headed somewhere, but the flat tire cut their trip short, luckily they stopped short just outside of a prison. He figured she was soon to be brought in and he would be called to deal with her as well. But he turned brushing the thought aside to head in and see his old brethren.

The lights hummed as they slowly came to life, McMillan could see the silhouettes of the pair in the cells just ahead of him, they had the corridor to themselves as the previous one had just filled up. They couldn't see him as the lights had yet to illuminate the room, but he knew one of them would know his voice. "Didn't notice me out in the snow yesterday did you, James?" it would still be a few minutes before the lights would come on completely, so there was still a bit of room for doubt in the man's mind after hearing the voice, but probably not much. McMillan pulled out another cigarette and lit it up, tossing the pack and lighter over through the bars of the cell toward Mason. He took a long drag so if the man looked up he might just catch a glimpse of McMillan's face before the cigarette dimmed again.

OOC: Vivienne, I know you are in the thread with us, but could you maybe make your first two or three posts about being brought in and what not, I kinda want a bit of time alone with the other guys, thanks.

[Vivienne Rousseau]

"Alles nach rechts, Rousseau, kein lustiges Geschäft. Sie werden von ausgebildeten Soldaten des Drittes Reichs umgeben; wir werden nicht - "

The man was cut off by a powerful kick, falling off the back of the truck with an effeminate squeal as the behemoth within lunged at him with a dog's snarl. Four other German soldiers came running up frantically, leaping into the path of the monster as their comrade scrambled away, grabbing desperately at the chains that held her back. The driver and the man riding shotgun leapt out of their vehicle, scrambling towards the small group, the latter of the two standing back to bark orders.

In retaliation, the beastly woman that they were trying to subdue shook herself like a bear. Woozily, she attempted to stand, letting out a great, thunderous growl. Some of the soldiers faltered, shaking hands releasing the woman's iron bonds, and the woman staggered to her feet. Her brown hair, paler and thinner then it once was, fell around her face like a mane. Her near-blind eyes glared at the soldiers around her, and she snorted like a bull.

"Erschrocken, bastard?"

The soldiers looked nervously at each other. They had been smart enough to keep the length of the chain that linked the woman's ankle cuffs together short, but she could still hurt them. Vivienne Rousseau was like a tank - every part of her could be considered a weapon. There had even been an incident once where she seized a man by his shoulder with her teeth, and picked him up, right off the ground like she was a dog. Although nobody could say for sure if it was fact or fiction, they gave the still-drugged giant a wide berth, unwilling to have their skulls caved in creatively.

The Rousseau woman seemed to sense their fear. She let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking her head, staggering to the side in the process. Even though the drugs were still running through her system, they had considerably worn off during the ride, and it would be long now until she was working at full capacity. A few pains in her chest concerned her slightly, but Vivienne wasn'ta bout to let that stop her.

"ALLONS, BOCHE!" bellowed she, bellowed the French giant that many feared. "JUSTE JUGEZ-ET AMENEZ-MOI VERS LE BAS! JE PRESSERAI VOS TÊTES DANS DES MES POINGS COMME ELLES ÉTAIENT DES CERISES!!"

Within seconds, there was a good five metres between her and the ring of soldiers that surrounded her, several rifles aimed at her hulking form. Vivienne laughed maniacally and shook her head like a lion would with its mane, and took in a deep breath.

She would put them in their place.

"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!"

The lioness would not give up without a fight.

=======================

Translations:

All right, Rousseau, no funny business. You are surrounded by trained soldiers of the Third Reich; we will not -

Scared, bastards.

JUST TRY AND BRING ME DOWN! I WILL SQUASH YOUR HEADS IN MY FISTS LIKE THEY WERE CHERRIES!!

[♠ James F. Mason]

James lay on his side on the uncomfortable bunk on the side of the wall; the only signs of life the steady rise and fall of his chest. Anyone looking at him would have thought him knocked unconscious, or at least asleep, but that would have been wrong. He was indeed wide awake, though. He stared at the dank wall in front of him with his back to the corridor at the other side of the bars. His mind was tortured with images of that last battle in Lausdell. Blood staining the snow, men whimpering in pain, men standing with gaunt faces as they realised the horror of the situation they were in. He tried to blot the terrible thoughts out of his mind; that he was somehow to blame for some of the dead. How was he to know that his trick with the PIAT bombs would backfire so badly? An old friend had once assured him that it would work. He shouldn’t blame himself, how was he to know that his friend had been wrong? Still. He couldn’t help but blame himself.

He shifted onto his back; the first sign that he was awake that he had made in a couple of hours. The roof of his Damp, dark cell peered down at him menacingly and he stared right back up at it with a frown on his dirty face. He shifted after a good 20 seconds of trying to out stare the roof. God, the bunk was so hard to get comfortable on. The few twisted metal springs that held the thin mattress together dug into his back at every opportunity and there was an annoying drip that sometimes came from the ceiling, landing right at the top of the mattress – or his head if it was currently occupying the space.

It got very boring in the horrible cell and James had to entertain himself. The rats which haunted the whole building always provided a good distracting; whether it was catching them, watching them, or having conversations with them. He had a favourite rat, actually. Poor little fella only had one ear, which distinguished him from the rest of the pack. He was a lot friendlier than the rest two. He usually hung around at the bottom of James’ bed and it was nice to have something warm at your feet when you slept at night. He was also very good at listening – odd, because of his one-earedness. James called him Ratty.

He sat up as a door opened at the end of the gloomy corridor. A single man walked in, flicking the lights as he went by. The lights flickered a few times, but it appeared they weren’t going to turn on properly for a couple of minutes. James sat on the edge of the bed and watched as the men approached the twin cells. James let out a loud squeak of shock as the haunting voice spoke to him. He sat there frozen in shock. He recognised that voice anywhere, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t heard it in quite a while. It couldn’t be right… couldn’t. He wanted to say something, to scream, but he couldn’t. He stammered as he tried to piece together a sentence. ”What?” he whispered.

OOC: James? Mad? Naw, definately not.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

The flicking lights stimulated Mitchell's eyes, playing brightly coloured patterns onto the back of his eyelids. He slowly cracked them open, and the bright lights hit him, like the muzzle flash from a Machine Gun.

Like the proverbial ton of bricks, the day before came back to him, thundering though his head in a matter of seconds. What had happened? The German's had been obligingly retreating, scurrying back to Berlin, but out of the blue, on one cold Winter's night, they turned round and bit the Allies on their arses.

A single man came walking down the corridor, he seemed quite comfortable, relaxed. He stopped in front of the cell, and Mitchell took a cursory glance towards Mason. The boy hadn't taken this too well, keeping himself to himself, and occasionally talking to a rat, the only outsider in the small cell.

Mitchell held his eyes open and glanced at his surroundings in some sort of light. Grimy and damp sprung to mind as the bare concrete walls jumped out at him. Two beds were in the room, one on either side, and at the back was a cold metal toilet and sink. A paper cup was on the floor next to Aaron, empty, and some expired packs of German ration sat near the barred door, the dinner the occupants had forced down just a few hours ago. It tasted like crap, but food was food, and they weren’t really in a position to say no. Being an Officer had afforded no extra privileges for Aaron, but he was glad. He wanted to stay with the men, earn their respect by showing he wasn’t that different from them. That was the hardest thing about coming from the other side of the country and becoming a pivotal role in a Division. The men needed to get to know you and trust you, and your decisions.

Mitchell swung his legs around, his leather boots impacting the concrete floor. He threw the threadbare blanket off of his shoulders back on to the small bed and stood up. The figure grew closer, and the British Lieutenant could see that he was thickly muscled. The lights were still playing up as the man lit another cigarette and spoke.

Mitchell was perplexed, the man had a thick Irish accent, and he spoke fluent English. With a small clatter, a lighter and a packet of cigarettes landed on the ground, and as Mitchell picked them up, the lights stopped flickering.

Marlboro. An American brand, which shouldn't be out here. The cardboards box wasn't tarnished like his pack had been, which meant they were fairly new. He turned it over and looked at the printed date on the back. September 1st, 1944. This date was several weeks before he had arrived at the 7AD, and about a fortnight before a major event occured that shook the division to the core.

He pulled one out of the box and lit it up, taking a deep breath. He offered the box to Mason, he was unsure if the Corporal smoked or not. He turned to the newcomer. His ears noticed screaming in the background, deep growls accompanied by screams of French. The ears of the Briton were untrained to the language, but just from the way they were uttered, he could tell they weren't pleases and thank yous.

"Marlboro cigarettes, an Irish accent, and a connection to Corporal Mason. Why don't you just tell us who you are?" Aaron's voice was harsh and demanding. A tone he rarely put on, but this situation most definately called for it.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan squinted through the darkness as he almost became excited at the fact of seeing one of his old comrades. He stepped over to the table in the chamber outside of the cells and unclipped his two pistol holsters, pulling the cannons free and placed them on the table in the light of the sun coming through the window, any doubt would more than likely be forgotten at the sight of American pistols on a German soldier, as far as he knew he was the only soldier to carry a pair of them. He then unsheathed his knife and stabbed the tabletop, then his rifle was laid along side the equipment.

"Been a long time James. Well if you don't count yesterday that is." he said softly as the tone in Mason's voice seemed a bit on the frail side, he figured he'd keep with it until nerves were settled. Mitchell picked up the pack and the lighter, it was apparent that he was yet aware of the situation, but all would come to light momentarily. McMillan knelt down a bit to be at eye level with James and brought his face so close to the bars it almost collided with the cold steel and took another long drag from his cigarette, Mason was sure to see his face, and the ring that Wolfram himself had given Edward. He stood up once more and took a few steps over toward Mitchell. Who does this guy think he is? McMillan pondered.

"If you have to ask then you must be somewhat new to the unit.....Lieutenant is it?" McMillan bellowed looking the man over as best he could, the lights still messing with their eyes a bit. "Sir, be quiet, sit down and listen up!!" McMillan halfway shouted at the arrogant officer. "What the hell are you guys doing out there huh? That was pathetic! Since when do officers lose the knowledge of how to lead? For Christ sake we walked all over you guys, running around like children!" McMillan wiped a droplet of spit from his chin, he was almost going to lose it. Ever since he joined up with the SS it seemed the Allies couldn't pull their own heads out of each others asses long enough to even pull off a draw, much less a victorious battle.

"I came in here to release you...Mitchell, as the terms for your transfer have been negotiated, why they wanted you over this Corporal is beyond me. Is Liam loosing his mind back over there?" McMillan just shook his head, off the battlefield he still had sympathy for his old friends, but on that same field was a different story, he was nothing but business, war, combat, whatever you wanted to call it, seemed too few soldiers failed to remember that now-a-days.

McMillan grabbed on old chair, the back of it had been torn off long ago, pulled it in close and perched himself over by Mason. "I know I don't deserve to even know about Liam, or anybody for that matter, but could you spare some information about Colly? These guys still fear me even though I wear this uniform, I can make this a pleasant stay for you James, just wanted to know about Colly is all, from what the intel says I might be running into him as well in Italy in the very near future."

He sighed as he looked up at the ceiling and thought of the old days.

[Vivienne Rousseau]

OOC - Because of the actual timeline of the war and when the Lausdell Crossroads battle was at in real life, this takes place waaaay after my own threads. Thus, Vivienne would have been recaptured by now. Also, this post may seem a little...un-Vivienne, but Danny pointed out a flaw in her personality, and I'm making the most of it.

- = = -

Vivienne wasn't thinking; she was only hitting. Ever since the Nazis had caught her in France, dragged her back after three months - three months - of freedom, she hadn't been the same. She snapped more easily, and no longer did she see the Nazis as mere fleas or twigs. No, they were monsters. Monsters her fists could crush like bugs. It was a bold statement, yes, but Vivienne did not want to die in Germany. She didn't even want to die at all...

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to go home so badly.

A soldier fell to the ground as she crushed his nose. Another yelped as she kicked him in the groin. Two soldiers tried to hold her down, clinging to both her arms, but she snarled and sank her teeth into the side of one's face like a dog. He yelped, falling away, and the others did so as well. Vivienne snarled again, this time at all of her captors.

"RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!"

A Nazi fired a warning shot, glancing off of the giant's shoulder. Vivienne charged forward, teeth bared, but several Nazis dove for her legs and grabbed them. She stumbled forward with a shriek of surprise, falling into the cold snow as they piled on top of her, her heart beating painfully against her chest. The Frenchwoman wheezed pathetically, feeling the sting in her chest, and the twinges in her back and legs that were oh so familiar.

Vivienne was only a civilian. She was not a trained soldier like the rest of them. Even though she had killed some, and even though she was a brute, she had been slipping up more and more ever since her capture. It seemed to be almost inevitable, just as time went on, and her heart and back and legs got worse and worse...

[♠ James F. Mason]

James continued staring at the ghost from his past in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Mitchell calmly light up a cigarette from the packet that had been tossed to him. James reached out a shaky hand and his fingers grasped the packet. He fumbled with trying to open the top for a few seconds before he thankfully pulled out a cigarette. He hastily grabbed the lighter and a thought came to his head. What if I used the lighter on him? I could set him on fire! But, no; there was no way in hell that that plan would work. He got on with it, taking ten seconds to light the cigarette before he tossed the packet and light back through the bars where they clattered on the floor.

Mitchell spoke out bravely and James wondered how he was able to hold together at all. Well, Mitchell was only a replacement to the Platoon – the replacement of McMillan. He didn’t know what was looking him in the face right now. James shivered slightly as he realised that McMillan had been on the battlefield. He had actually taken part in the slaughter of men who used to be his comrades; men who might have even served beneath him. Well at least it cleared up one mystery. As the remaining Allied troops had been gathered up after the battle they noticed that the tank which had routed them was actually British. It was a Churchill; commonly used in the 7th armoured so they were all able to easily recognise it. It was only now that James remembered McMillan had gone missing while on the line with a Churchill tank. When the bodies were discovered the tank wasn’t with them. A sickened look came on his face as he realised that they were probably the same tank. It only really dawned on him then; McMillan was a traitor.

James felt his anger level rising, but he tried not to let it show and he tried not to suddenly explode with anger. No, it would be better to play the dumb, innocent, confused junior NCO now. He looked on in slight interest as McMillan rounded angrily on Lieutenant Mitchell. He proceeded to growl about how the Germans had walked all over the small British force. ”We don’t need to be told that…” James muttered to himself. He watched as McMillan wiped a disgusting blob of spittle from his chin. James’ heart sunk at McMillan’s next words. Mitchell was leaving… they were bailing him out. Then James would be alone with this… monster. Although, he did feel a flicker of proud ness at the compliment he received from the ex-British soldier. A slight smirk came to his face at McMillan’s comment about Brentwood. He really didn’t know how close to the truth he was.

James gave an unhelpful shrug at McMillan’s next question. ”I don’t actually know Colly myself. Well, I’ve seen him once or twice, but never actually talked to him. He isn’t in the division either. But, I have heard that he is taking your… death very badly. Apparently he used to be a good friend of yours” James added in the last bit specifically for guilt. James gave a sceptical look to McMillan’s comment about giving James an easier stay. He really did doubt that a bunch of elite SS could be swayed by the word of some turncoat Irishman…

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

McMillan turned on Mitchell, and the Second Lieutenant was slightly taken aback. A dozen retorts rose in his through, but he realised there was only one sensible course of action. He stepped backwards, and settled on to his bed, sucking on the cigarette. He let himself lapse in to silence as the screams came at him, and he felt oddly like it was back in his childhood, when teachers or parents would scold him for small things. Aaron was adept to keeping a straight face, hiding emotion in this situation, and he just sat there, completely still apart from the sucking of the stick and exhalation of the smoke.

He was tempted to make a comment on the battle, but the Irishman had made a valid and completely true point. They had cocked up. Badly. As McMillan mentioned his release, he almost let a small smile appear, but the second he inferred Mason was staying behind, it dropped. Mason was a good soldier, that was true, and Mitchell would have to make sure the Corporal was avenged upon the battlefield, that the Allied assault overran the German’s so much that the Corporal was back where he should be.

But as he sat there, the events of the battle made sense. The tank he had seen was definitely a Churchill, and this was where it had come from. It occurred to him that a lot more Allied gear could be in the hands of the enemy, a though that didn’t bear too well. The American 75mm rifles could tear through armour, and suppose the renegade had got a few of them over? The potential for the Axis to make their own version and kill hundreds, thousands of Brits made him feel sick to the stomach.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, and leant his forearm on his thigh, letting the smoking end dangle between his legs. ”German, Irishman, whatever the hell you are, firstly, could I ask for a name? Just to make things a bit more comfortable.” You couldn’t put a price on manners. He took a quick suck on the glowing stick before carrying on. ”Why, why did you change sides? What could possibly be with the Axis that made you change sides and fight with the Hun?” It was the one thing that stuck out in his thoughts. Why?

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan watched as the reality of the situation hit James it seemed. He was a bit jittery but nothing too bad. McMillan just let the lighter hit the floor, he didn't worry about it at the moment. "No, I'd expect you don't!" it really did bother him how easy the Allies had lost, this was the main reason McMillan now marched under a German flag. The Allies were like children out in the shit. Running around scared, retreating all over the place. It was ridiculous and McMillan wasn't going to have his name soiled for being amoungst cowards.

"What do you mean he isn't in the Division...where the hell did he go?" McMillan inquired about Colly. But his head hung low for a few seconds as Mason spoke of Edward's own death and how it affected them. He had figured someone would notice it wasn't him but the best he could guess is that the Allies screwed up yet again, probably asked someone to ID the body that had seen McMillan all of once at a distance. It amazed him how the Military was able to screw up even the simplest of tasks.

McMillan just shook his head, other than thoughts of Colly, Liam and Mason on a personal level, no one had yet to bring forth a good reason Edward shouldn't have left. Then this Mitchell character was still trying to act like the biggest swinging third arm in the room. He had never heard of McMillan, but that was fine, he wouldn't forget the previous days massacre anytime soon. "Learn your place! You are the prisoner, I am the captor, say something else stupid and I'll come in there before your release at noon and ensure you have to stay for medical treatment!" McMillan didn't really know why he didn't like this Lieutenant guy so much, but there was just something about him that rubbed Edward the wrong way. Maybe the cock up the day before, maybe the continuous questioning while being stuck behind bars, maybe the fact they met the demands for this moron's release and not James'. "Can you give me a good reason to come back?! I know I wouldn't be proud to stand next to you guys right now! You guys looked like a bunch of nut jobs trying to fornicate with a box of TNT...some of you even looked like you succeeded!"

[♠ James F. Mason]

OOC: Errr... I forgot I was to post in this. :x

McMillan urgently questioned him about Colly, but James just shrugged. He really didn’t know and he wouldn’t be telling McMillan even if he did. Mitchell began to question McMillan again, asking who he was and where he came from. It didn’t seem like a good idea to James; who knows what McMillan could do? If he changed sides, he surely wouldn’t have any disagreements to torture, would he?

McMillan snapped and began to pretty much yell his head off at Mitchell. James winced, feeling sorry for the 2nd Lieutenant. He was just overly curious, but McMillan obviously didn’t like it. James also couldn’t help but admire McMillan’s comeback and insults. ” say something else stupid and I'll come in there before your release at noon and ensure you have to stay for medical treatment!" That was fairly well done! But James doubted that Mitchell would be able to keep his mouth shut. He wondered if McMillan would actually carry out the threat. He probably would...

McMillan then proceeded to compare them to people trying to fornicate with a box of TNT. Ok... that was... inventive. James did feel slightly guilty after that one. He felt that it was directed ever so slightly in his direction. Well... what’s done is done, he thought, not believing himself in the slightest. It had been his fault out there that so many men had died. Maybe not all of it was his fault, but the majority was. The guilt was pressing in on him from all sides now. He had forgotten it in the couple of minutes conversation with McMillan, but now it had returned with McMillan’s comment.

A couple of seconds of silence followed McMillan’s comment. Maybe Mitchell was debating if he should respond to it? James tried to change the subject. ”Whatever happened to your dog Tella, or whatever her name was?” He said, deciding not to add in ”Did you shoot her too?” at the end. McMillan had been somewhat obsessed with that dog ever since he had gotten her.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

McMillan started shouting the odds about, and behind his back Mitchell felt his fingers curl in to a fist, but he released it, deciding that any threats the imposing Nazi made would be carried through. He stepped backwards, letting his elgs run against the bunk and sat down. He was being released at Noon. He shot a look towards Mason, hoping the Corporal would pick it up. It was an incredulous one, how come he was going but Mason was staying?

"Fornicating with a box of TNT." Certain irony in there, seeing as they had no idea where the box of TNT had been. He took a drag on the cigarette, letting the smoke out slowly as Mason took over, asking about a dog of all things. It obviously was a "you-had-to-be-there" kind of thing. He almost shook his head, but decided to keep his body neutral, lest he provoke the Traitor.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan stepped back and leaned against the concrete wall opposite the holding cells where the men from his old unit were currently living. He wiped a bit of spit from his lips and took a deep breath to gather himself, no need in getting worked up too much at the pair, after all they had been captured which didn't exactly show a huge amount of skill on their part. "Tessa, she's doing just fine, had to retrain her a bit, seems there are more canines in this part of the world than what she is used too, got a bit to playful so we had to remedy that." he said in response to Mason's question. He sighed heavily and refrained from rolling his eyes but he saw no harm in telling the Officer his name. "Names McMillan Lieutenant, I used to be the Senior Sergeant in the 7th, was pretty close with Liam, almost glad to see he has another officer in the unit to help him out now that I'm no longer there to assist, but you sitting in here doesn't help him to much now does it?" Yeah it was rhetorical and yeah he sort of meant it as an insult, but it had been a while since he had been able to speak English so he was making the most of it while he could.

He rolled the thought around in his head, more than likely the two wouldn't have a choice in the matter but he figured it was at least something to talk about. "So I'm guessing the two of you will report back to the Captain about all this when you get back like good little boys...give him this if you want him to believe you." He stated as he leaned forward and pulled a picture from his pocket, it was oddly enough still in pretty good shape. He tossed it through the bars and watched as it floated to the ground in an odd motion to rest near Mason's boots.